Fan Fiction

Somewhere, there's a man. He doesn't want to be where he is. There's no place he'd rather be less. This man is suffering. But inevitably, he gets used to it. He becomes calm enough to distance himself from his misery, just a little.

And without meaning to, he thinks of a place he'd rather be less. a place which hurt him in ways he's currently not being hurt. whether it's a few feet away, or in another horrible universe, he's glad he's where he is, and not there. This is just a fleeting thought.

But then he's there. And he'll stay there until he thinks of a place he'd rather be less.

It was near midnight, again. The man was in an asylum, again. Across the room from him, as usual, was the body of a young person, a woman this time. It still breathed and its heart still pumped blood, but "body" was the correct term. Her soul had long since fled, as the man well knew, off to that place where souls go when they're done being people.

"Can I ask your name?"

The man startled. He was used to being alone for these long hours, but this time there was another man in the room. He turned and stared at a short, unexceptional man who had spoken.

"What is this?" he whispered, "Some new form of torment?"

The other man gazed calmly back. Gazed into eyes that have seen too much. "Simple curiosity. I've been tracking you around the world for a long time."

"So now you have finally caught up to me. Very well then, my name is Harold DuVase. I'm an evil wizard, and my journeys are part of a curse inflicted as punishment for my terrible crimes. Satisfied?"

The little man scribbled in his note pad. "Thank you, that matches our suppositions. Can I ask who placed this curse on you?"

"You aren't going to ask what I did? Or why this," DuVase waved a hand at the body opposite them, "is part of my punishment?"

"Not really."

DuVase's face twisted into something like a smile; the savage pride of a survivor. "One eventually grows numb to merely physical pain, you understand."

"I think we can draw our own conclusions about your, er, crime." The man's expression was a mask, a carefully controlled absence of expression. "I'm more curious to know who did this to you?"

"He called himself J-Jack. No, I had J-Jack killed. It was Jack the Plaid who defeated me." The older man's voice trailed off, "So close. I came so close..."

The little man folded his note pad and put away his pen. "It seems that we may have a mutual enemy in this Jack. We have been observing him. He is meddling in powers best left undisturbed."

"Ah, now I see," DuVase's voice dripped contempt, "I know your kind. Smug, sanctimonious fools who'd rather see the last spark of magic squelched out of the world, lest anyone dare to use such power. 'Powers best left undisturbed,' indeed."

"I am here to suggest a deal, Mr. DuVase."

The wizard laughed a bitter, bitter laugh. "Don't insult me. A deal? With me, a world-class champion meddler in forbidden powers? You despise me as much as Jack."

"Nevertheless, I do have a deal for you."

"You would have to be desperate."

"We are."

DuVase turned his back on his interrogator. "It's irrelevant, anyway. This curse can't be broken. Laws of magic, you know."

"No, but one person's punishment can be taken by another."

Harold turned, and in those haunted eyes, there was a faint glimmer of hope. And then he was gone. No flash of light, no puff of sulfurous smoke; he was simply there one moment, and gone the next.

The other man left the cell, and made his way through the halls of the asylum. He spoke into a cell phone: "Broadshoulders? This is Brown. I have made contact with our vanishing man. You were right, he is the old wizard we were looking for. He was apparently the one behind last year's simultaneous collapse of occultists. So in a way, he's already done us one favor.

"Anyway, I think that he'll agree to our substitution plan, even with strings attached. We can simply let him free to seek revenge on your man in Miscellaneous, and his pet devil. Once we're done with him, we can just put him back where we found him.